Size Matters
by Gash LuBurn
Summary: Rukia was being kidnapped, arrested right in front of Ichigo's eyes for the thankless crime of saving his family. It wasn't right! If only … If only he had some sort of giant weapon to hit the bad guys with. Like, say, a ridiculously massive sword. Yeah, that would be great.


**Ego-Friendly**

* * *

"Fan-flipping-tastic."

Ichigo fired off a few semi-audible curses, mostly to himself, as he began the long process of unwedging his blade from the asphalt. Stupid sword.

Why did it have to be the length of a surfboard, anyway? He couldn't even get it through doorways without help.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Oh, and him? What Shinigami just jumps into fights without even looking? God. He really had to stop doing that. He wasn't some kind of invulnerable, shounen-manga protagonist. Eventually, his totally reckless behaviour would get him killed.

Again.

Uh. Maybe that was a bit harsh. It wasn't all that clear if he was really _dead_ or not. Straight-out asking seemed a little rude, and Rukia would probably take it personally. Not that he cared what Rukia thought. That would be ridiculous.

Still, he had to look on the bright side of life, unliving or not. For one thing, his sword was now free. And at least rushing blindly into this particular situation, pointy weapon in hand, had saved Ishida from being stabbed by that creepy yakuza dude. Mmyep. So … good job? You looked kind of cool for a second there, Ichigo. Kicking asses and taking names.

"The fuck? Another Shinigami?" the redheaded wannabe-murderer bellowed, spiky hair standing on end like a badly dyed pineapple. "Who the hell are you to interfere with official business? Whose orders are you following? What's your squad number?"

Huh. This guy was pleasant.

Purely on a whim, Ichigo decided to mentally dub the man Fishcake, in honor of the oh-so-snappy goggles and warm, sunny disposition. He'd try and work it into the conversation later.

"What ... What the—" Fishcake's eyes slowly widened, and his tattoo-brows squirmed in impotent rage, as if they could worm their way off his big, ugly head in sheer anger. "That … Wh-What is with that idiotically huge sword?"

Then Mister Personality started shouting, thus proving he could, in fact, get even more irritating than before. Great.

Still, the blatant insult had almost resembled some sort of respect. Ichigo's sword _was_ big, wasn't it? Yes it was. Nice. This mysterious jerk had a leg up on Rukia already, in terms of manners. Thanks for the compliment, dickwad.

"—without a trial! Ignoring the direct orders of a superior off—"

Holy crap, that was an awful noise coming out of Fishcake's mouth. The constant screaming was getting seriously annoying. Maybe if Ichigo could tune the red-haired baboon out, he might be able to actually concentrate for a second, because at the moment, just standing here was giving him flashbacks. Keigo being an idiot, Ichigo's father's stupid antics … He couldn't freaking work in these conditions. God damn.

Alright, quit your whining. Time out. What exactly was going on? List the facts. Use your head.

Fact one: Ishida sure didn't look too healthy, what with most of his blood relocated to the sidewalk. That wasn't a standard medical procedure. Pretty sure about that one.

Fact two: these two guys seemed to be backing his poor, little, sadistic roommate into a corner. He felt sorry for them. … Her. He felt sorry for her. Yeah, let's go with that.

Right, so these guys were definitely the bad guys. Attempted murder, attempted suicide/kidnapping – the evidence was pretty damning. But … well, 'suicide via Rukia' wasn't a crime, and trying to murder Ishida didn't mean they were necessarily _evil_. After all, the guy was kind of a prick. He could understand the urge.

A dilemma, then. Ichigo could go with his intuition, but he'd long-since decided that his moral compass was a little rusty. At the moment, the rookie Shinigami's gut feeling was to take both these guys down with extra helpings of prejudice, but he had to make sure they weren't jackasses with hearts of gold. Like Kon. Sure, the artificial soul had been an identity thief, but Kon had no more evil than an average, lecherous, pacifistic moron. So, maybe this called for an information check? A subtle nudge, preferably. While trying not to antagonize anyone.

"Yo, Rukia! What's the deal?" Ichigo yelled, snapping the Shinigami in question out of her melancholic reverie. "Who are these assholes supposed to be?"

Her eyebrow twitched in a weird way, and the serene, constipated air that had coiled itself around her began to die a very swift death. As if to compensate for the tragic loss of angst in the general vicinity, she clenched her hands around an imaginary hilt, face darkening with the full fury of righteous anger. "Fool!" she yelled. "Didn't I tell you not to follow me? This is a very dangerous situation! Run!"

"Cheh, like I'm going to listen to you, or some dumb note with a poorly drawn badger on it. And where'd you get that riddle, from one of Yuzu's books or something? It was nearly as bad as the art." Smirking, the orange-headed student wiggled a finger in his ear, looking off to the side in a masterful pretense of boredom. "Besides, dunno if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly the most obedient guy around. I don't take orders from anyone, least of all you."

A trembling fist rose partway into the air. "Yes," Rukia gritted out. "I have become well aware of that. I _had thought_, however, that you knew when to fight, and when to run. Obviously, I was being far too _generous_ in my estimation."

Ichigo grinned. He was getting a really good rise out of her this time. That meant it was time to up the buffoonery a notch. "Hey, thanks! Not that I don't appreciate the compliment, but really, it's all thanks to your lofty standards of teaching. I can't take all the praise. So, we doing this?"

"Moron! I was insulting you!" she roared. "Are you so stupid you can't even understand the depths of your own stupidity? Idiot!"

He waved her off, prompting an indignant screech from the ancient teenager. Miming a yawn, and turning away, Ichigo blocked his expression from view behind his very large sword. There, safely ensonced in his flat, metal mask, the substitute Shinigami allowed himself a smirk. He'd become quite good at aggravating the short woman on demand. And this time, unlike most times, his antics were for a good cause. Because that last to-and-fro between them had brought the spark back to Rukia's eyes.

Admittedly, that spark might be focused on doing him personal, bodily harm, but the situation was still better than before. Mostly.

A couple minutes back, she'd looked … dead inside. And Rukia, looking like that? Nah. It was wrong. Alien. Hey, he'd only known her for a few weeks, but the way Ichigo figured it, anything that could subdue such a fiery person had to be seriously bad news. Added on to that, the dazzling duo of dickheads over there obviously had some connection to all this kimono-wearing nonsense. That meant they could be tough. Seriously tough.

Look, Ichigo wasn't stupid. He knew that, in all likelihood, this wasn't going to end well. But, hey. Whatever. If he died, he died. Not like he was ambivalent on the existance of an afterlife or anything. The whole deal was kinda obvious by now. Nothing to stop him from trying to do the right thing and pissing off as many people as he could along the way.

Rubbing his nose with a knuckle, he sent Rukia a reassuring half-grin. "Sure, sure. Whatever. Look, this is fun and all, but I don't have time for it right now. Lemme ask properly, then. Are these guys bothering you?"

His hair flattened. A few pebbles skittered around his sandals like agitated insects, and pressure weighed down on his shoulders, the very weight of the atmosphere seeming to double. Ichigo glanced at the rustling of a few nearby trees, which proved the notion wasn't just his imagination going wild. The air itself had become thicker, angrier.

Fishcake was mad.

Ahah! Shinigami could do that too? Interesting. He'd thought that aura stuff was a Hollow thing. Well, it looked like ki-charging was something he could figure out in secret, later on. Awesome! Thanks, Fishcake.

"Bothering her? Are _we_ bothering her? This coming from the piece of trash that stole Rukia's powers?" A sneer of pure, condescending disgust rippled down the trigger-happy redhead's face. "Maybe you don't realise exactly who you're dealing with. Allow me to educate you! Listen up, punk! This specimen of manliness in front of you is Renji Abarai, Lieutenant of the Sixth Division. And right here's my direct superior, the Captain of the Sixth Division, … Byakuya Kuchiki. That name sound familiar?" The jerk's sick grin widened. And though it shamed him to admit it, for a few tense seconds, Ichigo couldn't figure out why the guy looked so satisfied. Like a cat that got double the cream.

Oh. _Oh_. "A Kuchiki? He's supposed to be related to you, Rukia?" Ichigo flicked his eyes over to her, still pretending not to care.

Stiffly, the small woman nodded, a haunted look crossing her face. "Yes. And he is. He's my older brother, and I also happen to know Renji very well. They must have come to arrest me for giving power to a human. I do not quite recall the penalty for such a crime, but if a Captain has come to take care of it personally, my sentence is likely execution." She turned to Ichigo, turning that unnatural, defeated gaze upon him. "Please. Just don't interfere. You don't stand a chance against either of them."

He didn't stand a chance?

Well, just … uh, shit. Hm.

That sucked.

You know, Ichigo had been under the impression that he'd been doing great so far, on the beat-em-up scale of general ass-kickery. Some more faith in him, if you please? Although … Rukia knew his strength better than he did. Rukia was the one who was familiar with this world, not him. So, if she thought he was going to lose, he probably was.

Ichigo didn't sulk at this revelation – that would ruin his image – but he allowed himself a manly pout. No, wait, a grimace.

Yeah.

And maybe a few pointed questions, because … god damn, if he was going down, he wanted to know _why_.

"I see." He gripped the hilt of his sword a bit too tightly. "Compared to them, I suck. Got it. Well then, as I'm obviously the clear loser here, you mind telling me why these jokers are so fantastic?"

Rukia looked at him.

Ugh, there it was. The scorn was back. Like he was a helpless child, or something. "For one thing," she drawled. "Putting aside their many centuries of experience at both swordplay and kidou, they both happen to have more reiatsu than you. Much more."

Ah. Crap.

Okay, maybe the miniature samurai was onto something.

He'd basically won all his previous fights through raw strength. Having power in spades was basically Ichigo's thing. Or, at least, it used to be.

And it had worked. Against weaker guys, he couldn't complain with the results. But facing a guy who was both stronger and more skilled? Nah. Not happening. Anyone with half a brain could predict how that would end. Basically, if he was going to come out of this smelling like roses, he had to come up with an unpredictable trick to use in the next two minutes.

That sure wasn't going to be easy.

Damn it! Fighting using your head was freaking difficult. He'd been enjoying the freedom of not having to think. It was like a vacation from his homework. No algebra required. Just hit-and-miss tactics, combined with relaxing exercise.

"Hold on." Ichigo ran over his thoughts again, blinked, and broke himself out of a slight stupor. "Wait, I call shenanigans!" Yes. Shenanigans were most definitely in play. He had to be missing some vital information somewhere. Well, that, or someone he trusted was lying to his face. Given his luck, both were probably happening at the same time.

Rukia looked unreasonably baffled. "She-mangos? Why are you blathering about fruit at a time like this?"

He snorted. "_Shenanigans_, midget. Use your ears. Look, you definitely told me that the size of a Shinigami's sword is directly related to the amount of reiatsu they have. Remember? I had to endure so many of your stupid 'overcompensating' jokes before you finally broke down and told me I was awesome. Not cool, by the way," he grumpily groused, still a little irritated at the embarrasing memory. Man, that sort of bullshit could really grate on a guy's confidence. There must be no bro-code amongst dead, magical samurai.

The savages.

"Ah, yes." She beamed. "I do remember that. And don't call me a midget! I am petite, not short." Hands on hips, she straightened up her posture to it's fullest extent.

Seeing as he was still a good head taller than her, Ichigo remained unimpressed at Rukia's delusional display. He snorted. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Okay, wait, he had to insert a caveat. Anything _apart_ from that hideous rabbit-thing she'd made him buy. God, that thing was disgusting. How it had ever been approved for manufacture was utterly beyond him. It just didn't make any sense.

Hold on, he'd gotten distracted. Where was he going with this again?

"Oh yeah." He slapped a fist into his palm. "I can get them being more skilled, because immortality is ridiculous that way, but if they're stronger than me too, why are their swords just normal-sized? Shouldn't they be swinging around refrigerators?"

"Ahem." Three slight coughs marked the first contribution to the conversation from Rukia's brother. Byakuya, was it? Byakuya Kuchiki.

The man was wearing some weird, ceramic hair-ornaments, which made him seem like a total pansy. But despite the immediate dection of man-points for the headgear, Byakuya was otherwise, undeniably, cool. His face never changed from a constant, stern expression. He had a pleasant baritone for a voice, and while there was an aura of danger around him, he also seemed impossibly cultured for someone of his apparent age.

Ichigo immediately hated him.

"I apologize for interrupting this … informative discussion," Byakuya said without emotion. "But as a Captain, I believe I am the most qualified person present to answer your queries."

"… Go ahead," Ichigo allowed, after checking with Rukia. He glanced at Renji too, but the angry asshole had quietly fallen in line, with a deep, simmering hate hidden behind his overt subservience. There was some kind of really strange dynamic between those two guys. Weird, yeah. But hey, Ichigo really didn't care enough to speculate why.

"Every Shinigami on the level of a seated officer has a substantial amount of reiatsu," said the elder Kuchiki, drawing his sword in demonstration. "As you correctly stated, reiatsu naturally increases the size of a Shinigami's Zanpakutou. Therefore, for someone with a very large amount of energy, the reiatsu in the blade must be forced into a significantly smaller form. This is a simple burden of necessity. After all, if that compression was not undertaken, all Shinigami captains would be wielding swords the size of small villages."

Oh.

His sword was a little under six feet long. He'd thought that was big. But villages? As in multiple city-blocks? That was … terrifying. A skyscraper of murder. Even having a sword as tall as he was suddenly seemed pretty inadequate.

Guh! Not that … swords symbolised anything, of course. They meant nothing at all. Nothing at all. Fuck.

You know, from what he was hearing, it sounded like it was possible to control the size of a Zanpakutou. He had to try that. It sounded _amazing_. But … well, that fun would have to come later.

To Ichigo's deep regret, this was some serious business in front of him, and he had to finish up with it before he could mess around. "Okay!" He hefted his totally-normal sword in one hand. "Enough talk! I'm Ichigo Kurosaki! You want to take Rukia, you're gonna have to go through me!"

"Heh. Don't say I didn't warn you, punk. Let's dance!" Renji cackled, eyes gleaming with unfettered bloodlust.

* * *

"You … you're pretty good, for a rookie." The Shinigami grinned viciously at him. "What's the name of your sword?"

Ichigo wiped a trail of blood away from his mouth so that he could speak clearly. "Uh, what are you talking about? You guys name your swords? Swords don't have names, man. They can't talk. They're just swords. You hit people with them." Well, that was the theory, but he wasn't doing so good on that front at the moment. Didn't mean he wasn't right, though.

"You … don't even know your own sword's name?" Renji momentarily paused in his heavy-handed attack, looking stunned at his good luck. "Hah! Hahahah! **Roar, Zabimaru**!" he screamed.

Then the asshole's sword _transformed_ into a blade the size of Ichigo's, all razor-edges and living wire. Even as he backed away, Ichigo proceeded to completely crumble like wet paper against Renji's redoubled onslaught, frantically trying to keep the whirring, lethal bits away from his jugular.

So. Basically, the act of shouting two, simple words had approximately tripled the guy's strength.

This was some absolute horseshit.

"Ugh!" Ichigo grunted. His hands vibrated, shaking with effort and repetitive strain. "Agh!" Okay, ow. That last strike _really_ hurt. Shit. He had to turn this fight around as soon as humanly possible. Renji's dumb-looking, stretchy sword was destroying him. It was embarrassing.

Man, how was he supposed to keep up? He was learning too much of this crap in a really short period of time. So many revelations at once. Swords had names, swords could change size, swords could transform, and Shinigami could do some crazy, bullshit, ki-charging thing like the hollows did? All of this would be super useful to know, if he was in a calm training area, and had ample time to try and level up. As he was currently stuck fighting for his life, none of it was really gonna help his continued chances for survival. Goddammit. Come on, brain, just one idea. One.

He could try powering up, he guessed. Because, what with the whole magicky spirit-pressure thing, he might be able to wing it, at least. Do it on the fly. So, how did this work? Just focus on his power and push it through his body? That … sounded like anime logic.

Damn it, he had no choice. Hopefully, trusting in his inner Keigo wouldn't end in disaster. Okay, maybe that was a lost cause, but it could be a small disaster. A minor one. He'd just have to give it a shot.

Then Ichigo's eyes glowed blue.

His sandaled feet dug into the battered concrete beneath him like it was made of clay, and Renji slammed up against his rock-solid defense, now maintained with a single arm. Unbidden, Ichigo felt the corners of his mouth turning up into a savage grin.

Awesome. Anime logic seemed to be the order of the day.

Would you look at that. He'd managed to claw his way back up to an equal footing with this asshole. And now that he wasn't being pushed around, Ichigo could start hitting back. Hard.

He was going to enjoy this much more than he probably should. Screw defending. Ichigo was much better at offending.

With a whistle, his cleaver swung, sparks glittering away in a crescent of light, skimming away from the edge of his blade as steel crashed against steel. Renji tried to block, but his grip slipped in a gush of red, and that strange, snake-like contraption cracked along the edge.

Ichigo's newfound strength pushed down relentlessly. There wasn't time to react before his opponent's knees buckled under the enormous pressure. Renji's experience kept his head high, struggling to push the larger weapon back, but for some reason, blood was dripping from his torn-up hands, like the guy had cut himself on the edges of his own hilt. Eventually, the twisted katana faltered, and down came Ichigo's sword.

A wide gash opened up from the Shinigami's shoulder to his hip. A hot spray of molten rubies sparkled in the air.

Renji stumbled back, clutching his arm to his chest. His shocked, pale face contrasted sharply against the crimson stains that dripped down his robes.

And then Rukia shouted a warning – Look Out! – and that Byakuya guy disappeared from where he'd been standing. Still riding the adrenaline rush of power, Ichigo forced his body into an evasive roll, but he was slow, too slow, and there was a ripping, cleaving sensation in his chest. Completing the movement, he felt a tug, and was suddenly about a pound lighter than before.

Oh god.

Ichigo looked down at his torso, and choked wetly at the sight of a hole running straight through his body. He clutched at his chest, pulling the ragged edges of his clothes together with trembling fingers.

Impossible. No, it was actually impossible. The guy had to have moved fifty meters in under a second, without making a sound. He hadn't even seen Byakuya move until the man was already standing behind him. Then a sword had materialized, and Ichigo's lungs were pretty much torn in half. That kind of speed wasn't human. It wasn't even _inhuman_.

What the absolute fuck.

"Hm." Captain Dickface frowned in an uncaring manner at the steaming blood that dripped from his weapon. "A pity. I was attempting to perform a non-lethal attack. It is most rare for me to miss against someone of your level. Count yourself fortunate, boy."

Fortunate? Sure. Whatever you say, dude. Ichigo just didn't feel all that lucky at the moment, as he was more concerned with keeping his liver from escaping. He needed that.

Oh shit, he was going to die here, wasn't he?

Again.

Maybe.

Man, what a crappy way to go. Killed by douchebags, allowing Rukia to be captured … dying like that wasn't his style at all. It really wasn't.

Maybe it was weird, but that idea stuck with him, in an odd, slow, viscous way. This wasn't his style.

He had to do something.

He had to do something, _now_.

Spurred by the jolt of genuine danger, Ichigo's under-used, under-appreciated mind whirred into action and chewed through all the data it possessed. He heard a strange hallucination. A voice, his voice, spoke to him. 'Cheh', it whispered, in a weirdly coarse accent. 'Look at yourself. You're all out of options, aren't you? Nothing to lose but your life and soul, and those are already on the line. Stand up! There's no time like the present, you whiny little shit! For once in your life, take a fucking chance!'

So he did.

'Hey, magic sword.' Ichigo thought as loudly as possible, watching time inch forward at the speed of treacle. 'Listen to me, please. I don't know if you can understand me, and I don't know what your name is, but I need your help. I can't beat these guys on my own. Still, if you're a part of me, then you don't want to die either, right?'

Ichigo staggered to his feet, glaring at Byakuya's back.

'I am going to live. I am going to save Rukia. And I am going to _win_! So, even if you hate me, if you can hear me … just this once, lend me your aid!' Swinging down his weapon with the last of his strength, Ichigo struggled to push his wild, untameable energy into the blade. 'Big', he told the sword. 'Get big. Bigger than you've ever been before. Become giant. Become monstrous. Become absolutely huge.'

And, to his surprise, the weapon obeyed.

Byakuya had turned to reprimand his subordinate, but the arrogant move meant he never saw Ichigo rise to his feet. Renji, pasty-faced from blood-loss, didn't have the time to shout a warning to his superior before being flattened by a house-sized slab of metal.

Slowly, Ichigo blinked. Nothing was moving.

Had he actually managed to trap both the powerful Shinigami under the same sword-strike? No way. Surely Byakuya would have used his ridiculous speed to get out from under the falling steel? Anything else just seemed way too optimistic.

The part-time human tried to lift the massive sword back up, straining a little at the weight. When that didn't work, he changed tactics and shortened his sword.

Okay, never mind. There they both were, much the worse for wear. Renji and Byakuya. Two for two, both were out for the count.

Wow. Ichigo had to admit, he might just be the luckiest person on the planet. Neither of the seated officials were dead – they were damn strong, and he'd used the flat of the blade for extra coverage – but they had definitely fallen unconscious from the sickening force of metal meeting skull.

Holy crap. He'd actually won!

"Th… How th… But y… Wh…" Rukia stared blankly at her would-be captors, seemingly unable to put words to her thoughts. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask. At this point, why should I be surprised? You're obviously cheating. It's like you can't lose."

Ichigo gaped, dumbfounded by the sheer idiocy of her comment. "Can't lose? What are you talking about, idiot? Look at me! My spleen is falling out."

"Ah, you big baby," she waved dismissively. "Just put it back in, you'll be fine."

"I'm the son of a doctor," Ichigo reminded her. "And that's really not how medicine works. I would know. Besides, this is very unsanitary, and it really, really hurts. Ow." Wait, were there soul bacteria? Did soul injuries show up on the body? Either of those two would be bad news. He'd never be able to explain the horrific scarring. Also, he might die.

Groaning dramatically, Rukia stepped over to him. "Okay, okay. I'll try to fix it. I know a few healing kidou, but I can't do miracles. I'm afraid your face will still be just as ugly as before."

"Stuff it, midget. But, uh … thanks for the help." Taking advantage of his grievous injuries to win a verbal battle? He'd taught her far too well. Now the student had become the master! Truly, this was a monster of his own creation. Such was the price of hubris.

"… you idiot," Rukia whispered, and the ebony hair falling over her face was tinged green by the otherworldly radiance of her spiritual energy. "I should be the one thanking you."

Ichigo scowled. "Don't bother. If we're both stuck thanking each other, then we'll be here all night, and I have school in the morning." He looked away, his voice getting a little gruff. "Besides, all I did was fight a few monsters and these guys. You saved my life a bunch of times. You helped me find my mother's murderer. And, most importantly, you helped me gain the power to protect my family. I'd say that makes us more than even."

Rukia didn't meet his eyes. "Yeah. I guess it does," she whispered guiltily, though her tone didn't match her words. Then the depowered girl stopped talking, and concentrated on healing his horrible injury.

Nice houses around here. Yep. A real quiet neighborhood, you know?

The magic pulsed through his body. It slowly got easier for him to breathe, as his respiratory organs were restored back to full, working order. And that was always good. After a few more patches to stop his blood from leaking, he'd be good to go, pretty much.

But the healing wasn't a quick process.

While he waited for his bones to reattach, all he could hear, apart from the incessant sound of awkward silence, was the intermittent humming of the tingly green stuff. Kidou, was it? Sounded useful. He should bug Rukia into teaching him some of this Demon Way nonsense. Weird name. Sounded kinda evil. _The __Demon Way_.

Hahaha.

Wow, okay, still a little loopy on the adrenaline, it seemed. Good. Yeah, blood-loss and adrenaline made for a pretty heady combo. Kinda mind-bending, but not entirely in a bad way.

Also, he really needed something to distract him from the fact that Rukia was deep inside his bubble of personal space, with a double-handed grip on his chest. Admittedly, that might just have been an attempt to keep his intestines from meeting the pavement, but he was a teenager, and it was hard to fight the hormones, sometimes.

Shit, clear your mind! Don't think about it.

No, dammit, don't think about Tatsuki either. She was, like, a third-dan in karate. If his oldest childhood friend ever discovered Ichigo had gone through puberty, she'd probably react like he was the biggest lech in existence. Chizuru reborn.

Uh, he said 'reborn', but the girl was still alive, of course. Just … in traction, at the moment. Had been since Tuesday.

Man, that had been a mess. Poor Chizuru. Being an incurable pervert, she'd just gone a little overboard in molesting one of the bustier girls, all while in full view of Tatsuki. Keigo had talked for days about how lucky they were to have seen the crime, but never within earshot of the martial artist, because his friend enjoyed being able to walk. Ichigo had pretended not to care, and the gossip quickly died.

But even he had to admit, getting to grope Inoue was probably worth getting your legs broken.

Ah, damn. Really, he'd only made things worse. What had he been thinking? That he'd fight fire with more fire? Great plan, nimrod. Basically, this was all Rukia's fault.

Goddamn. Maybe he should try and … meditate, or something.

Yeah, on second thoughts, no. Screw that. Spiritual ghost-vision or not, he would be the shittiest monk ever.

"Pff—!" The short Shinigami startled him when she broke the silence with a snicker. The girl peered up at Ichigo in a way that made him very worried. "Hey, uh, Ichigo?"

He looked down, warily. "Yeah?"

"Did you just dominate two very strong men by making your sword get longer?" Rukia asked. The silent chortles betrayed her true, evil, intentions.

Fantastic.

That's where this was going, huh? Really. And he'd thought they'd been having a moment. Not _that_ kind of moment, he wasn't delusional, but still. Feelings. Emotional support. He'd been getting all sentimental and shit.

Figured. This was why he couldn't have nice things. Shake it off, buddy. Shake it off.

"Yes." Staying remarkably composed for a very angry man, Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose, and ignored the rapid muscle contractions underneath his right eye. "Yes, that is a way of saying what just happened," he calmly replied. "But if you start talking about cigars that aren't cigars, I'm going to have to hurt you."

Stupid Freud. The guy had been such a humongous prick that people still used his ideas to successfully troll the innocent. Freudian slips. Phallic associations. They'd learned all about him in class, unfortunately. It was the worst.

Long story short? Freud. A giant dick.

Wait, fuck.


End file.
